


Losing as a habit

by PossiblyHuman



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Author is trans, Handcuffs, M/M, Phone Sex, Trans Peter Lukas, Voyeurism, background lonelyeyes but they're divorced right now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PossiblyHuman/pseuds/PossiblyHuman
Summary: Peter Lukas keeps losing bets to Mikaele Salesa. He doesn't know how this keeps happening, but he's suspicious.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Peter Lukas/Mikaele Salesa
Comments: 18
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is FAR from perfect but it needs to get out of my drafts before I get too invested in this as a pairing

Peter loved gambling. Not _traditional_ gambling, he wouldn’t be caught dead with enough people for that. No, Peter had a fondness for bets. Two person things. One person being him, the other being a person Peter could tolerate the company of for long enough.

 _But._ Strangely enough, he was losing bets to Mikaele Salesa at a much higher average than normal. Meaning, as of recent, Peter didn’t remember a time he won a _single_ bet with the man. It didn’t matter what it was, it didn’t matter what was at stake. Though, they usually didn’t wager much. The thing didn’t matter, Peter didn’t care about small favors, or taking a person who Salesa wanted out of the picture, it was the principle of the matter. Peter _always_ lost. It was starting to get to the point where it wasn’t fun for him anymore, and after Peter lost the last bet, handing over the 20 pound note, he started to avoid the man.

Their relationship really didn’t have much else to it, so Peter saw him far less. Sometimes they’d cross paths, usually in a bar on a port, and Salesa would make conversation. It was a habit Peter hated, and he usually drank a fair deal to put up with it. And tuned him out, nodding occasionally. Salesa seemed fine to talk to the dead air between them, as he was doing now, and Peter looked at him vaguely, eyes unfocused. 

Today was some pining over a lover Salesa had recently lost. And the way Salesa described him had Peter wondering what the point had been. By his description, he’d seemed more trouble than he was worth, for not much in return. Clingy. Jealous. Rude.

Peter didn’t have much of a type himself, but he had plenty of experience with “more trouble than he was worth.” He’d been married to Elias a few times now, and he was handsome enough, and _hot_ enough, in the right scenarios. But _absolutely_ more trouble than he was ever worth. The ring was absent, now.

But Salesa was something different, and Peter found his eyes drifting over him occasionally. He was only a man. He had eyes. ...And Salesa was someone nice to look at. To boot, he _used_ to be someone fun to deal with. He had a zeal for life, a sort of excitement that drew others in to him. Even Peter, who hovered on the edge of that sort of thing, was drawn in. It made for a good rapport. Peter had a cheerful, deadpan humor. Salesa had a loud, happy, laugh.

Salesa had a handsome face, even slightly unfocused as Peter found his eyes now. Dark, rugged, with just a smattering of stubble around his jaw. Not enough hair there or on his head to interfere with the sharp lines. He had dark eyes that glittered with excitement and mischief. 

He was a good half a head taller than Peter, and built far wider. If he was close enough, Peter had to tilt his head back just a smidge to make eye contact. Peter wasn’t used to that. He was used to being the tallest in a room, looking down at everyone else. Smiling gently at their discomfort. But if Salesa decided to step in front of Peter, he’d disappear entirely from anyone else’s view.

...There was definitely something appealing to that. He’d thought about it a few times, when they’d been walking among the storage crates. How Salesa could just lean over, brace an arm beside Peter’s head, where no one could see and...

...But Salesa was still talking. Peter was still nodding, feeling slightly drunk, looking at the sly smile that had started to creep onto his face. 

Wait. That was not a smile he should be nodding to. Peter pulled himself back into the conversation as Salesa held a hand out to him  
  
“Then it’s a deal?” Salesa said, cheerfully. 

Peter frowned. He could guess that context any day. “I’m not making a bet with you, Mikaele.”

Salesa echoed Peter’s expression, but it was in a slightly less serious manner. His eyebrows raised. “Not even if you get something _really_ nice if you win?”

Peter laughed, turning back to his drink. “What do you _want,_ Mikaele. You’ve won every bet we’ve made lately. May as well skip the wager.” 

“It’s more about what _you_ could want, Peter.” Salesa insisted, hand dropping to his pocket and pulling out a pair of earrings. Dangly, dainty looking things. Dark blue. 

Peter snorted. 

“I have no interest in those.”

“No, for the wager. Look closer.” Salesa insisted. 

Peter did, leaning in and squinting at the things. It took a moment for his eyes to focus, already fairly tipsy. 

They looked to be some sort of crystal, with thin wire frames that led neatly into dainty looking chains. He opened his mouth to comment when something about them caught the light. Something passed over the crystal, swirling in the center, shifting the shape of it, settling into little orbs instead. “What do they do?”

Salesa shrugged. “I haven’t tried them. But _you_ could!” 

Peter drew back, picking his pint back up. “You’re mad if you think I’ll do that.” 

“Aren’t you curious?” 

A pause. Peter was a little curious. He sighed. “Yes! Find someone else to test them on.” 

Salesa held them in his big palm, shifting them back and forth so they hit each other. Contemplating. “...What entity do you reckon?” 

Peter looked down at them. Their appearance, deceiving, pretty even. And then there was that shift, that change from teardrop to circle. “...Stranger.” 

“ _Really?_ ” Salesa asked. “I thought they might be close to your god.”

Peter considered that. “...No. I don’t think so.” 

“How confident are you in that?” 

Peter knew what he was doing. He was trying to fish a bet from him. He could say no, immediately. There was every chance Salesa already knew the answer and was just trying to get something from him. Peter could use this as an opportunity to find out how he’s winning so much. Decided, he hums with an artificial determination. 

“Very.”

Salesa brightened. “A wager, then.” 

Peter would find it hard enough to resist one on a normal day, but since he’s trying to get to the bottom of this, he doesn’t have to. “Stakes?”

Salesa grinned, and he looked at Peter in a way that made his stomach tighten with a tinge of excitement. _Oh_. 

“I was getting there.”

\--

...The terms weren’t bad, in either scenario. Practically a win-win for Peter’s tastes, suck him off or get sucked off. He assumed Salesa felt the same, and that was why he’d chosen it.

\--

They’d found someone with their ears pierced soon enough. Another sailor, like them, not a member of either of their crews. They’d coaxed him back to the room Salesa was staying in, with less than honorable tactics. The earrings had gone in, the light had drained from his eyes.

Peter knew it was the Lonely’s influence, as the man dropped, lifeless, to the ground. 

“...You knew.” He accused, immediately. His eyes didn’t leave the body on the ground, even when Salesa slid up behind him, one arm carefully sliding around Peter, pushing his coat off of his shoulders, the other pressing his chin back.

Peter’s coat hit the floor next to the man with the earrings. He didn’t even twitch.

Salesa laughed just as he pressed a kiss to Peter’s neck, and he could feel the warm vibration there. “Not exactly.” Was the murmured response. “I knew I would win, though!”

Peter knew it. He pressed a hand behind him, pushing Salesa away, then turned on him with a bright, fake, smile. “Cheater. Sit!”

Salesa obeyed, fingers going to his fly. He freed his cock and Peter eyed it. It was half-hard, probably from the anticipation, long, and had a pretty substantial girth to it. Peter’s jaw would be aching later, he was certain. Peter walked forward, and dropped to his knees. 

“Explain.” He demanded, hands sliding up to the insides of Salesa’s thighs.

Salesa grinned. “No.”

Peter stopped. Fully stopped. He raised his eyebrows at Salesa, incredulous. “Really?”

“Really. You know I cheated, I’m not going to tell you how.”  
  
“You do realize I’ll never make a wager with you again if you don’t?”

Salesa’s smile didn’t drop, looking confident now as he looked down at Peter. He dropped a hand under his chin, tugging him forwards the rest of the way. “Yes, you will.”

Peter’s nose brushed Salesa’s cock, and he stared at him, incredulous. “We’ll see!” He replied after a minute, voice soft as he tilted his head back and pressed his lips to the tip of Salesa’s cock.

Salesa’s fingers curled into Peter’s hair, rudely, as soon as his lips touched the tip of his cock. He hissed something about “cold”, but Peter wasn’t trying to listen, really. 

Peter wouldn’t care that much about the fingers in his hair, too if they weren’t tugging so hard. It could be nice, if at the right level of pressure. He licked at the head, sliding his hand up to wrap around the base as he got to work. He’d barely had a few seconds of this, his hand moving along, when the fingers on his hair pulled, hard. Pulling him back as he tried to sink further. Peter let himself be pulled back, and when he opened his mouth, a thumb shoved in between his teeth. 

“ _What?”_ Peter asked around it, irritated. 

Salesa just smiled at him. “I just wanted to remind you this is for me. Don’t go too quick. I’d like to make this last.” 

“That wasn’t a part of the terms.” Peter mumbled around the thumb. He wished Salesa wouldn’t talk so much. 

Salesa laughed. “No? No. It wasn’t. But if you wanted a little, hm. Reciprocation?” The thumb pressed hard on Peter’s tongue until his jaw was pried open again, then hooked behind his teeth. His face was drawn back up to Salesa’s cock, which he slid back in over the thumb. It was uncomfortable, having his jaw pried all the way open and left like this, and Peter was sure that was why he was lingering. Salesa didn’t seem too bothered, continuing to talk as his hips shifted lazily back and forth.

“Mm.. What was I saying? Ah. Yes. Reciprocation. Make it good, but not _too good._ ” Awfully confident of him. Peter laughed, the best he could as he was. Salesa sighed and pushed his hips forward, contentedly, patting Peter’s cheek as he withdrew his hand. Peter drew one of his hands up, curling behind one of Salesa’s thighs while he tried to relax his throat as Salesa kept up that lazy pace, deep and slow, pressing against the back of Peter’s throat.

It was a bit insulting, actually. Peter was _good_ at giving head, but everytime he tried to shift his attentions to that, Salesa decided he wanted something else. Peter had dealt with control freaks in his life before. (Note: The ring that is definitely gone this month.) But _this_ was another level. Insulting… but the dehumanizing and depersonalizing effect of being _used_ like a thing instead of a person did stir something deep in Peter’s gut. He’d try to use his tongue and Salesa would press his cock harder against it. He’d try to suck and Salesa put a thumb back in between his teeth. It irritated him in the childish, competitive part of Peter. He looked up at the man, eyebrows tilted down, and was met with flushed glee as those dark eyes stared back into his own. 

This was a game for Salesa. That competitive part of Peter surged again, as did the desire of being _used_ , and he settled on a plan.

After a little while, Salesa went to pull completely out. Peter felt the hand loosen on his hair, and Salesa cleared his throat as if about to speak. Peter took his opportunity, then. 

He pressed forwards, sucking the head of Salesa’s cock a bit more tightly, and, keeping that suction, he sank down, tongue pressing up at the base. Just to show what Salesa was missing. That he was actually _good_ at this. Salesa gasped, sharp and harsh, and Peter felt his cock twitch. He hoped he was about to finish, just to prove a point. He pulled back just a little bit, teasingly swirling his tongue before going back down again. Salesa pulled out quickly, a hand pushing Peter’s head back. 

He was breathing hard, and Peter sat back on his heels, wiping a hand across the wet drool in his beard. Salesa dragged his nails across his shortly cropped hair, exhaling with a deep laugh. Peter smiled when Salesa swore lightly at him. “Bastard. You almost ended that right there! And _that_ would have been a pity.” 

Peter shrugged. “Would it?” It was a bit of an insult, a bit of a challenge.

Salesa blinked at him, then laughed again. He shifted his legs, placing his feet flat again on the floor. A large palm patted his thighs. “Come up here, Peter Lukas.”

Peter shifted back, standing slowly with a blank smile on his face. “I never said I wanted any of your ‘reciprocation’, Mikaele.”

Salesa leaned forwards, looking up at Peter carefully. Peter looked back, standing utterly still. Silence. The man on the ground made a soft sound that broke like a choked sob. Both of the other men ignored him. Something flashed in Salesa’s eyes. A darkness hidden behind his smiles, just as Peter did with his own. You had to be a bit of a monster to deal with them and their artifacts constantly, and Peter was fascinated to see that part of him crop up.

After a moment Salesa’s smile widened: “Then why haven’t you left?”

Peter didn’t have anything to say to that. Nothing that was true. 

A finger hooked into the front loop of his trousers, tugging Peter forwards. When Peter went without resistance, Salesa took that as an invitation. The hand slipped up under his jumper to his stomach, then slid behind his back, nails digging into the pale freckled skin there. It was a warm hand, much warmer than the too-cold skin Peter had. 

Salesa’s free hand thumbed at the inside of Peter’s thigh, just above the knee, sliding upwards. Until it stopped right before the seam of his trousers. Peter made no reaction, staring at the wall behind Salesa’s bed.

He frowned. “...Tell you what!” Salesa started, dragging his fingers up higher, thumb and forefinger closing on the handle of the zipper. “If you let me fuck you, I’ll tell you how I keep winning.”

Peter pretended to consider it, then drew a knee up, sliding it over Salesa’s thigh. He echoed with the other side. He put a hand on his shoulder, ducking his head down to look at him flatly, nose to nose. “...You’d better be good at this!” 

He had no doubt he was, but it was all in play. In lighthearted jest. Salesa’s smile just sharpened, that dark edge visible again. He tugged Peter’s fly down, and Peter shoved him onto his back. Salesa made a delighted grunt of surprise, and Peter decided to kiss him before he said anything else.

...Kissing Salesa was an interesting experience.

Anything Peter gave him Salesa took greedily, pushing it further. It was an odd combination to Peter’s...impersonal touch. Like going through the motions, pulling kisses shallower than the next. He knew it hurt to kiss him, if you stopped to think about it too deeply, felt cold. It didn’t seem that Salesa was doing much of that introspection, though, biting and tugging at Peter’s lips in a way that made Peter's gut turn. Before he knew it, his cold, detached, kisses were turning desperate, swallowing both of their sounds between clashing, awkward teeth.

Salesa didn’t disappoint, and used his position on his back to start tugging at Peter’s clothes. Peter lifted his hips, and then each leg. He struggled with one hand to work on Salesa’s trousers, but found his jumper yanked up quite suddenly. 

He laughed, breathlessly, lifting his arms to help pull it the rest of the way off. As soon as the fabric went over his eyes, Salesa’s hands settled on his hips, and Peter felt the pressure before he was flipped. He didn’t fall perfectly on his back, but Salesa was pressed between his legs, shoving him the rest of the way down. 

He yanked the jumper the rest of the way off. Dark, wild eyes greeted him, that playful smile back again. 

Salesa seemed to look right through him, and his eyes trailed up and down Peter’s body, like he’d been _waiting_ to see him. 

He hated that. Being present, being thought about.

He hated more that it did something to him that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. And when Salesa looked away, dropping his face into the crook of Peter's neck, it did something more. The heat pooled between Peter's legs and he realized quite suddenly he was wet.

Salesa pressed his weight against him, pushing him hard against the comforter. Peter lost his breath for just a moment before scrabbling for some kind of hold on Salesa’s shirt when teeth closed on a spot fairly high on his neck. He sucked hard enough to make the skin pop beneath his teeth. Peter’s head snapped downwards with a surprised cry, chin almost connecting with Salesa’s head, but a hand curled into his hair, tugging his head back, hard. 

Peter gasped, curling his fingers into his shirt and tilting his head back further. Salesa continued down his neck, sometimes leaving burningly present kisses, sometimes scraping his teeth into another harsh bite. It was torture. Stinging and being crushed beneath a warm body. 

Peter gritted his teeth against every gasp torn from his throat, and it got worse when Salesa’s free hand began to tease in between his legs. He didn’t warm up to much, starting with two fingers immediately. Peter was wet enough to take it, but still moved with a bit of discomfort.

It was too much and not enough, and Salesa didn’t seem to want to provide much else help, pulling his fingers out of Peter before long.

Peter wasn't expecting him to be gentle, but he also wasn’t expecting him to push into him this quickly. Peter hissed in pain, tugging at the hand on his hair. It only tightened. Peter had to look down at him without moving his head, and squirmed uncomfortably. Salesa wasn't even looking at him. Peter wondered if he knew that was better.

...Of course he did, and that stung. He squirmed again as he realized the impersonal touch, the cold approach, was a personal choice to make this good for _Peter._ It almost negated the entire gesture to realize that. Salesa's eyebrows drew together, and his voice was low and calm as he spoke to Peter.

“Be still, or I’ll flip you.”

That didn’t seem like too bad of a threat to Peter, really. Maybe next time- 

...Oh, _absolutely not_. He wasn’t going to think about a next time, not while Salesa was still currently pushing into him. That was wishful thinking, that was too much. The man on the ground groaning reached both of their ears, and Salesa rolled his eyes, and started moving.

He fucked Peter hard enough that Peter knew it was going to linger, but at least he seemed fairly keen on finishing Peter off as well. They rolled together surprisingly tightly, Salesa preferring to stay in deep, Peter supposed. That was fine by him. Tight gasps led to quiet moans. 

It wasn’t long before Salesa finished, inside Peter. Peter grimaced. Like most things with Salesa, that was far too intimate. Too warm. But Salesa was focusing on touching him, driving him to finish too, and Peter felt that mild moment of disdain fade. He curled his arms tighter, and clutched him through the tremors after he came. 

Salesa laughed when the tremors stopped and Peter immediately pushed him off of him, sitting up.

Peter exhaled, pulling a hand back through his curls. They were tangled from the abuse, and some strands snagged until breaking as he tugged. He frowned, deigning to focus on the promise he had been made. “What did you do.” 

“Check my pocket.” Salesa grunted, eyes closed, and Peter did. He ended up with a small swirling coin in his hand, and as soon as it touched his skin, he remembered.

Peter had bet _against_ a sailor, one that had been confident but stupid. When the sailor had gone, everything shifted. Peter had bet for him, and Salesa took the winnings. He had a winning hand at cards, placing it down on the table, but no. It was on Salesa’s side. 

There were still bets in there Peter had lost fairly, the customs manager hadn't been tampered with, but any bet where Salesa was about to lose, he rubbed this coin, and it flipped. 

“Oh. What a neat trick!” Peter said cheerfully. Spiral? Stranger? A mix? He’s sure this wasn’t being used to the full potential it had, honestly. He was doing both himself and Salesa a favor taking this. 

He was going to dispose of it. It didn’t even cross his mind to use it for himself, that wasn’t why he made bets and wagers. “I’m taking the earrings, too.” 

Salesa waved a hand from the bed, not seeming bothered at all. Peter took that as a yes.

He pulled his clothes back on, ignoring the sharp strain of the muscles of his thighs as he crouched to remove the earrings gently from the ears of the man on the ground, sliding them into his pocket.

He saw the fog begin to lift from his eyes, immediately, replacing with a cold fury at his position. He wasn’t able to move yet, but he would be soon. Peter smiled at him. Time for him to go. He’ll leave him Salesa to deal with. 

Without any further ceremony, Peter left. He heard the shouting when he was halfway down the hall, but was ultimately unconcerned.

When he reached the docks, he drew his hand back and launched the coin as far as he could into the sea. 

Salesa got off lightly for rigging his bets. He would live. ...Probably. Peter wasn’t sure what that sailor had in him, but he doubted he could kill the slippery antiques dealer. And if he did, well. Salesa had been a decent man to make bets with. And a decent enough fuck.

Peter supposed the best he could do in exchange is miss him, for a time.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to shore causes storms to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who suggested Elias was watching last time- really inspired me to do this chapter! thanks for the positive reception, really! again, this isn't perfect but I had fun with it so I hope you enjoyed it

When warm air crashes into cold, storms ensue. When cold air meets calmer warm air, gentler than a crash, fog comes.

Peter was cold air. He was the frigid air that hovered from the sea. When he came to shore, dripping and freezing and fed, warm air usually waited for him. 

Sometimes it was Elias, thunderstorms and fights and calm manipulation between both of them. The air burned when Elias was near, when he put his hands or eyes on Peter all Peter could do was crackle like lightning, storm back. The ring burned whenever he wore it too, prickling with so much affection it almost melted his fingers. When it was absent, he could finally feel some peace. Today the cool air brushed over what used to prickle, and he felt calm. 

It didn’t matter what or who it is, when Peter came to shore, thrumming with the power of his god, he knew his cold air didn't have a pair. Only when the last of his crew had left does Peter emerge from his cabin. It was late, pushing 3 am, and he was still so entrenched with his god that his footsteps didn't make a sound as he exited, walking into the labyrinth of storage containers that dotted this particular port.

Peter was glad the huge, cold, metal boxes were what greeted him here, instead of the harbors of crescent cities and towns, warm and inviting. Kind locals that offered him a drink, other sailors that were looking for a job. He was fine with the latter, anyone desperate enough to approach a man who clearly doesn’t want to be talked to would feed his god for a long time. ....But. Well. Tranquility can only last so long.

A large man appeared out of nowhere, pushing him roughly into one of the boxes. He hit it with an uncomfortable slam, and reached behind him to steady himself with a gasp. He tensed, ready to draw the Lonely around him, shove the man into it, when he recognized the grin in the darkness. He paused, taking a breath. 

“Mikaele!” He said, irritated but pushing the fake cheer. “What the _hell_.” 

_I could have killed you. I_ **_almost_ ** _killed you._ It was unsaid, but heavy in the implication.

“Peter!” Salesa replied, and as far as Peter could tell, that cheer wasn’t fake. “I apologize for scaring you but, well. I don’t! You’ve snuck up on me so _many_ times and you were distracted.”

Peter snorted, raising his hands to push Salesa off of him. It was true, and he couldn’t blame the man for the attempt. (Success.) “Fair enough.” 

Salesa didn’t budge, grin still wide as he caged Peter in. “Hold on. Are you still angry about the bets?” 

Peter rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the warm breath against his face. Personal, close. His fingers very slightly curled into Salesa’s shirt. 

“Maybe.” Peter certainly didn’t trust him enough for another bet anytime soon. But that artifact was gone, and Salesa wasn’t bound to have found another one like. They tend to be unique, no two quite the same. “What, did you find another item you’re curious about?”

Salesa laughed. “No, no. Nothing like that.” 

Peter waited. He clearly wanted a prompting, so Peter was not going to give it.

Salesa didn’t seem to care when Peter didn't provide it, grinning as he leaned in close to Peter. “Would it make you feel better if I, oh. Treated our last bet like a loss?” 

It took a moment to click, and then Peter’s eyebrows shot up, smile creeping on his face. Last bet. The bet with the earrings. “Oh?” 

He glanced around them. “Here?”

Salesa dropped to a knee. “I can’t have my favorite captain not _trusting_ me.” 

Favorite. That implication burned, even if it was a joke. It could have been one, but as bad as Peter was at _making_ friends, Salesa was worse at keeping them. It could be true. Peter wasn’t sure he liked that idea.

Peter shrugged, dropping his hand to Salesa’s hair and looking down at him with a lazy smile. It was a complicated way of saying he wanted to fuck, and Peter was torn between asking if he’d had another break up, or if he’d really _missed_ him that much. “Hm. I could consider it even!”

“Good enough.” Salesa leaned forwards, hands sliding up Peter’s legs to tug his jumper up. His lips pressed to his stomach.

His fingers trailed up, tracing over scars, over pale skin with freckles and little else to show for the days in the sun. Peter shivered. This was...intimate. The kisses were almost sweet, and those warm hands, curling behind him and up his chest...It caused him to flush. 

He was sure that didn’t go unnoticed, and Salesa didn’t seem in much rush. He left his coat alone as he ran his hands up and down Peter, stopping only to reach down for his boots. Peter laughed. 

“Really?” 

“It’s hard to eat someone out who's wearing pants.” Salesa said mildly, lifting one of Peter’s legs after the other. The boots were discarded, but Peter’s socks were left on. The ground was damp, but not too bad. His nose wrinkled anyway and Salesa laughed, going for his trousers next. 

Peter pushed them down himself, letting Salesa take them and drape them sloppily over his boots. 

“You couldn’t have snuck up on me in a hotel?” Peter complained, lightly. He didn’t _really_ mind, but he felt he was perhaps too old to be fucking outdoors like this. Salesa just hushed him, sliding a hand down his thigh and pulling it over his shoulder. He was expecting him to start out slow, but Salesa immediately used his tongue, licking between his legs and teasing at his cock before stopping that attention and moving to his thigh, sucking a mark there.

Peter grunted, pressing his heel demandingly into Salesa’s back. That earned a look from the other man, an amused, exasperated one that didn’t mean anything for Peter getting the attention he wanted. Peter laughed, feeling challenged as he met those mischievous eyes.

His laugh trailed off as his stomach dropped. 

Salesa’s eyes just changed.

Something about them. It was only a brief flash, one that he would have missed if he hadn’t been paying attention. The color lightened, brightening to a shade he knew all too well, and then the pressure of the air around them increased. 

He was being _Watched_ through Salesa’s eyes. And Elias wanted him to know it. It didn’t mean anything for how long he’d been doing it, just that he wanted him to know _now_.

Peter glanced away but the pressure didn't alleviate. He could only imagine what he looked like. His jumper hiked up to his armpits, overcoat still on overtop. That didn’t even mention the position of the sight, clearly from a kneeling position in between his legs. 

Peter’s mood was dropping, turning to cold anger. The temperature dropped as well around the two of them as he fumed. It wasn’t any of Elias’ _business-_

Teeth closed on his thigh, and Peter yelped, looking back down at Salesa, who was giving him a slightly offended look.

“Am I not interesting enough for you, Peter Lukas? You’re focused on something else.” 

“We’re being Watched.” Peter said bluntly, expecting that to be the end of it.

Salesa blinked, almost turning to see if anyone was around before understanding lit his face. He shrugged after a moment. “Beholding is nosy. We don’t have to stop just because it’s chosen to let you know.”

Peter gritted his teeth as Salesa dipped his head back down, pressing a palm to his forehead to stop him. 

His brain was filled with furious thoughts of Elias now, the bastard. Nosy, unhelpful, controlling, Elias Bouchard. Salesa sighed, a puff of warm air against Peter that almost had him shiver. Almost. 

“Well! If that bothers you, we can stop.”  
  
Peter didn’t want that either, fingers curled into Salesa’s short hair. He frowned as Salesa chuckled. 

“Make up your mind.”  
  
The pressure increased, and this time Salesa seemed to notice, lips pressing to Peter’s thigh again. “...Hm. I don’t think I aggravated the Beholding lately. Did you?”

“...My divorce recently came through.” Peter said, keeping his eyes to the side. Salesa paused, and Peter regretted his words immediately. 

Despite their...friendly relationship...Peter was private. Even as Salesa complained of his partners over the years, Peter was very careful to never mention much about his own. He never mentioned his name, his alignment, nothing. He didn’t want that sort of close bond that came with venting to each other.

The one-sided balance they’d eventually reached was fine, he was more a confidant than a peer in that case. 

But Salesa was a smart man, he knew Peter interacted with very few people, and he kept an eye on the way the world and the entities worked, especially financially. Anything he could use another time. 

Peter had no doubt that Salesa had already narrowed it down to the source. Although, when Salesa spoke again, his tone stayed casual.

“Ah. The ever elusive husband?”

“Ex.”

“Yes, yes. But for how long?” Salesa replied, continuing slowly back up to his original space. That was a normal jab. He’d seen the ring around Peter’s finger go on vacation many times before. “You’ve never mentioned him before. Jealous type?” 

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Peter managed through the attention and the sharp Watching, prickling everytime Elias was mentioned. He’s sure if he mentioned him by name, it would only make things worse. Peter was sure Salesa already knew who he was, by this point, so it would serve no purpose but to give Elias the satisfaction. His tone was slipping back into childish irritation. So many questions. Was he the jealous type? “Yes.”

Salesa hummed in response, looking Peter over. He seemed to come to a decision, shrugging.

“Pity for him. I don’t want to stop.” Salesa stopped talking, then, lips closing over Peter’s cock. 

Peter gasped quietly again, hand sliding down over Salesa’s eyes. The pressure immediately lifted, and Salesa made a sound that sounded a lot like a laugh. He sucked, hard, and Peter’s knee tightened to his ear. Salesa’s warm hand slid behind Peter’s thigh, tugging him a bit off the metal wall behind them. Peter’s hand slipped, uncovering one eye, and the pressure came back. 

It was odd, seeing the flash of another eye shade in Salesa’s face. Peter wondered how much effort this was taking. He didn’t care, going to lower his fingers over the eye again.

Salesa drew back before Peter could put the hand back in place, close enough that his lips still brushed his cock when he talked. “Let him watch. It will upset him more.” 

The hand behind Peter’s thigh crept around, squeezing his ass before continuing around, the pad of one finger teasing at his entrance. “Or perhaps it will make him miss you more.” 

Peter didn’t respond to either of those comments, but the latter made him pull his hand away, pressing it back to the wall. Vindictive as well as inexplicit permission for their...guest. Elias had been the one to file for divorce, he deserved to miss him a little.

Salesa grinned and continued. 

Peter tilted his head back against the wall, exhaling as Salesa worked his fingers into him. He dug his fingernails into his scalp as he observed the last of the stars, the sky turning to the pale gray of the morning. He soundly ignored the Eyes on him, the actual owner delighted, the parasite most likely furious.

He focused on the lips on him, and the fingers rocking into him slowly. The speed of the latter increased, as did the suction until Peter was quietly gasping, rolling his hips in time jerkily. 

He was so close, just a few moments more- 

But Salesa was pulling back. Peter gripped at his hair, trying to pull him back in, but there was so little of it his hands slipped through. 

Salesa straightened as Peter sighed heavily, annoyed, and lifted him up by his hips. 

Peter was a tall man. He wasn’t used to being picked up. And the last thing he wanted was to be dropped on his ass on the slightly wet ground. His arms wrapped around Salesa’s shoulders, legs echoing the movement. It brought them close, almost nose to nose, and Salesa pressed forward the rest of the way, kissing Peter deeply.

Peter grimaced, tasting himself on Salesa’s tongue, but melted to it soon enough. Salesa was nice to kiss, he'd learned last time.

“Is he still watching?” Salesa asked when he pulled back, a note of curiosity in his voice. 

“I don’t care.” Yes.

“I wonder what he’d dislike more…” Salesa mused, moving his hips forward to rub against Peter’s. That was going to stain his trousers. Peter grunted, rolling his eyes and his hips. He looked away, to a wet puddle to the side that reflected the little light around them.

“Stop it, Mikaele. I don’t want to discuss him.” 

“Very well.” It was cheerful, and he ground harder against Peter. “I simply wanted to include him, since he’s so keen on staying.”

Peter grimaced, reaching in between them for Salesa’s zipper. “ _Don’t_!” 

Salesa batted his hand away, circling his wrist and pressing it to the wall. He rolled his hips against Peter’s again pressing their lips together, and Peter hissed and bit him, impatient now. 

“Get on with it or go away.” 

Salesa cupped a hand over Peter’s throat, squeezing and tilting his chin to force Peter to look at him. That slightly dark look he got sometimes was there, the edge of a temper. Dangerous. He pressed a thumb to his lip, but Peter hadn't bit hard enough to bleed.

“Now you’re just being rude. ...You don’t want me to leave you here, with no trousers, do you?” 

Peter’s eyebrows lowered. It wasn't a genuine threat, for sure. His blood went cold at the thought. It was getting to be late enough in the morning that someone could walk by. ...He’d rather be caught fucking than be caught with no trousers. Even if he could fade into the Lonely before he was caught, it’d still be embarrassing. “...You wouldn’t do that.” 

Salesa leaned in harder, putting a bit of pressure on his throat and his wrist. “I would. I think it’d be amusing, and you’d no doubt be very angry, but you wouldn’t do much about it.” 

The pressure around them increased again, hard enough to make both of their ears ring. A reminder, or approval? 

Peter scowled and he took his freed hand to cup behind Salesa’s neck, tugging him back in for a kiss. He’s always understood Salesa had bad luck with partners, but now he was beginning to think it was because the man’s just _insufferable_. 

But he melted under the kiss. That’s what Peter thought. Salesa seemed to like kissing, even Peter’s cold, detached kind, and when it was clear Peter wasn't going to bite him, he recoprocated eagerly. Peter smiled against his lips. His hand trailed down Salesa’s back, sliding up the back of the shirt to dig into his skin. Salesa made a pleased sound, pressing their lips together again. 

Peter laughed, volunteering a bit of information about Elias to appease Salesa. 

“...He’s bound to dislike all of this. The outdoors, you, the fact I’m certain you didn’t bring a condom. Again.” The fact that it was a situation that warranted an “again”. As was stated earlier, Elias was a jealous man.

That last verbal part was pointed, and Salesa grinned, shrugging. Bastard. He’d learned last time it wasn’t a deal breaker. 

“You always push it, Mikaele. You should be careful who you _push_ with.” 

“Seems to have worked out fine for me so far.”

Peter went quiet. He couldn't argue against that.

The hand on Peter’s wrist dropped, reaching in between the two of them to undo his fly. Peter slid his hand higher up his back, pulling himself higher and lending his freed hand to help shove Salesa’s trousers down. Salesa seemed keen to keep the one hand on Peter’s throat, so it was a bit of an irritating struggle to maneuver this situation correctly.

Tight, irritated, words passed quickly between them as Peter was juggled. “Would you rather be on the ground?” “Just help!” “Ow.” “I’m too tall for this.”

Salesa sighed as they finally lined up and he started to push in, arm coming to rest beside Peter’s head. Peter felt his stomach tighten and he gripped Salesa tightly, hissing against his lips. When he started to move it was rough, clumsy. Peter really wasn’t used to being held up and manhandled like this, and he clung to Salesa, tight enough to leave bruises. The metal creaked behind them as Salesa turned to deep, rocking thrusts.

Peter dropped a hand down in between them, pressing a thumb against his cock as Salesa dug his teeth into his collarbone, pulling at his jumper. The neck was going to be all stretched out, and Peter made an irritated noise that turned into a stuttered sound as Salesa slammed harder into him.

“Shh.” 

The prickling feeling was back, even as Peter closed his eyes, breath tightening again as he got close. “Close...close your eyes.” 

Salesa obliged, and the prickling went away. Peter could do it this way. No audience, no comments to ground him into the personal. Just a cock rocking into him and his thumb on his own. 

Their breathing matched up and then it didn’t, Peter clenching down on his own hand and Salesa first. Salesa held him up as he shook, thumb tight against his jaw to keep him up. That was going to leave bruises, Peter knew. This entire affair was going to leave bruises. 

He wondered, distantly through his orgasm, how many of those bruises were the kind to show. And how many were the kind to blossom across your heart and memories. 

They worked a dangerous line, either one of them could die any day. Either one of them could betray the other for their own gain. That’s just how things worked in the fears. 

That wasn't even mentioning the burning extra set of eyes on them. The complications that could cause, the bruised feelings.

But these weren’t thoughts for now. He couldn’t focus on them much eitber as Salesa's cock pushed against his sensitive spots, chasing his own orgasm. Peter dug his nails into Salesa’s scalp, tugging him in flush. Salesa groaned, pushing himself deep inside Peter and finally finishing. Peter opened his eyes, staring at Salesa’s still closed ones. 

...Always so personal. Playing a dangerous game to show that to an avatar of the Lonely. Peter let him tuck his face into his neck and hold him through his orgasm. He wondered what made someone like Salesa, so brazen and boisterous, need such careful hold. 

He supposed they all had their bruises. And they all needed their own salves for them. Even if it stung, and Peter could feel the irritation of his god in the background, trying to get him to pull away, he held him through it. 

They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to, really. Soon they’d both be gone, both be consumed again in their own affairs.

Salesa gradually drew back, helping Peter get his legs under him and handing over his clothes. There was only one damp spot on the trousers, thankfully on the leg, so Peter didn’t mind too much. Salesa's clothes were in worse shape than him, stained and rumpled. He took off his shirt, leaving just a wifebeater underneath, and tied it around his waist. That helped a little, enough to get somewhere to change, for sure. Peter pulled his trousers on and then winced as he bent down to pull on his boots. 

When he straightened, there was a cigarette being thrust towards him, already lit. He took it, looking away as he took a drag. Distancing himself already. 

He didn’t smoke much, but this was good. Expensive, no doubt. Salesa did like his luxuries. 

Salesa lit another, making no move to leave. 

“...Elias Bouchard?” Salesa asked curiously, pulling up his trousers and buckling his belt. “Or one of the others that work at that Institute. I think one was called-”

“Yes, yes. The first one.” Peter snapped, interrupting him. There’d be hell to deal with if he was found to be talking about any of Elias’ staff. Annoying. Irritating things that they always were, though, it would serve them right. 

“Interesting.” It seemed like Salesa wanted to know more. Wanted to talk about it. Peter stayed silent, and Salesa shrugged after the silence drew out too long.

“Well. Good luck with that.” Salesa grinned at him, dropping a heavy hand to pat his shoulder. “Hope that clears things up between us.”

Peter lightly pushed the hand off of his shoulder, shaking his head. “Yes.” Too friendly, always too friendly from this man. But at least this evened out their distrust. For now.

“I’d better be going.” No ‘see you later’ or ‘goodbye’. That pleased Peter. No promises, no set boundaries or expectations of each other. He supposed Salesa was the closest thing he had to a friend, in any case. But the lack of definition made it work, and Peter didn’t want to change that.

Peter leaned against the container for another moment, feeling more than a little disgusting as his body cooled back down. He drifted in and out of sight. Salesa headed towards a ship, just beginning to bustle with a crew’s preparations. That amused Peter, and also greatly relieved him. He wouldn’t have to deal with a follow up from Salesa later. He also clearly had ulterior motives than ‘making up’, wanting to hook up before he left shore. Peter supposed that’s what normal sailors did. ...He supposed he did the same, on the off chance he still had a relationship when he left shore. Something to think about and miss while surrounded by nothing but open sea.

He dropped his cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the dampness below with the heel of his boot.

The sky was lightening to a pink shade, as sunlight cast over storm clouds, and Peter thought of the old rhyme he’d heard from many of his crew before.

_Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, Sailors take warning._

He sat, wincing at the movement and breathed in the cold air turning slightly acrid. He felt a buzzing in his pocket. A brewing storm, as telling as the color of the clouds above. Perhaps moreso, due to the number of missed calls next to the name flashing across his screen. Horrible man. He clicked talk, raising it to his ear with a brightly saccharine greeting.

“Hello, Elias. Enjoy yourself?"


	3. Cuffing Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias is jealous and wants revenge and...assurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're here again, and this is probably the last chapter. probably. again this is just me writing for fun and i dont want to look at it anymore so im sorry if there are typos and stuff! anyway, cheers

Funerals always left Peter slightly dazed, drifting in and out of the world as he left them. Until the fog lifted they were all in silent worship of his god. For a time the heavy rain and fog dripped down his body as he, like the rest of the Lukases, stood in silent reflection after the event. His eyes were glazed over, seeing nothing, preoccupied only with his own loneliness and the rain.

The meaningless of the family member that was now gone. Peter felt the name slip off him like the water did, another Lukas left truly alone in death. The ones close to them dragged down too, anyone who was attached would be joining them soon.

He didn’t notice when someone slid their arm into his, when he was taken carefully to a car. The rain on the window felt as if it was still hitting him, only the sound caused a brief change. Peter got used to it soon enough. The car drove back to a house he still paid the bills for, even when no one lived there.

He only noticed where they were when there was a crash of thunder, and the light in the room flicked off. Peter blinked, looking down at the bed in front of him, then turned around to look at the doorway. There was a shape there, shorter than him. Familiar.

His head was still not fully there, but he hadn’t seen the man in a while. He hadn’t spoken to him since their last call.

A flash of memory through the fog in his brain. A wet ground in a port, sore muscles in his legs, a phone call. Laughter and warmth and cigarettes as the cold voice on the other side asked him if he was quite satisfied with himself. Peter shifted, raising his eyes to the piercing ones. His voice was raspy, lips feeling heavy as he began to form his name.

“Elias, I-”

Something flashed in the other’s eyes. Something dangerous, calculating. 

And something underneath, a sour look that twisted Elias’ mouth downwards. It was enough to make Peter take a step back. When it came to fight or flight, Peter had always tended towards the latter. Elias stalked carefully towards him, tightly coiled and furious. 

Peter wondered briefly if Elias was going to hit him, as his hand raised. Should he go? He should avoid this. But his thoughts came too slow as he continued to back up, back of his legs hitting the edge of the covers.

Elias grabbed him by the tie, jerking his face down to him. His lips crushed against Peter’s, hands wandering as he clenched their heads together. The kissing deepened so quickly Peter had little chance to respond, hands clutched lightly behind Elias’ back as he licked his way into his mouth, all teeth and tongue. Peter responded slowly, lips and eyelids still feeling heavy. 

His blazer was pushed off, and Peter heard the jacket hit the floor softly. Elias pulled back, pushing Peter hard enough to fall against the bed. He grinned down at him, tilting his head. “Yes, Peter? You were saying something?”

“I wanted to-” Peter gasped and cut off as Elias climbed on top of him and pressed their lips together again, tugging at his collar and buttons hard enough to cut his breath off. “Elias-” Elias jerked a hand into Peter’s curls, tugging his head back so he could leave searingly hot kisses down his skin. He shivered, distracted as that heat pooled downwards, and kisses continued down to his collarbone. “Could you listen just a-”

Peter’s complaint cut off as Elias’ hand pressed between his legs. He held back a whine as Elias sucked the skin over his heart and ground the heel of his palm down. Peter clutched the duvet under his fingers as Elias continued his journey downwards.

“Mm?” Elias prompted, passing his tongue over one of Peter’s nipples.

“You’re doing this on purpose.” Peter said breathlessly, head spinning both from the speed and from the sudden contact. After so long with his god, ever the numbing presence, each touch was more intense than it had any right to be. It wasn’t fair. It felt like he was trying to catch up in a race where the other had a five minute head start on.

He was met with a laugh, hand grinding down again. It shifted up at the end, fingers pressing at his slacks through the seam. Dipping the fabric in as if trying to push inside.

Peter squirmed, feeling overwhelmed already. His brain distantly grasped at what he’d been trying to say before. Salesa. The anger of their last talk. “We should at least talk about it.”

A pause, and Elias moved back up to hover over Peter’s face. His nose brushed his as he spoke softly, eyes contemplating. “Mm...Have you ever heard of cuffing season, darling?”

Peter felt Elias tug at his arms, and he let them go loosely, looking up at Elias’ eyes and trying to catch his breath. 

He felt his face scrunch up, at the endearment, at the question, Elias ignoring Peter’s own attempts to talk. “...No.”

Elias smiled, and it went to his eyes, as if the ignorance of the term were a _lovely_ , precious, thing for Peter not to know. The pressure on one of his arms loosened. Something cold replaced it, sliding closed with a clicking sound across his wrist. 

Oh. Well that chased away the last of the fog. The feeling of being _trapped_ replacing it.

Peter tugged at it immediately, unsurprised when it barely moved a few inches before stopping. He reached his other hand towards it, and it was quickly pinned and given the same treatment. 

Peter tilted his head back to look at what he already suspected, then laughed. “...Handcuffs? Is this what you meant?” 

But when Peter looked back down, the humor from Elias’ face was gone. That dangerous look was back instead, as he sat back on his heels, resting some of that weight over Peter’s thighs. The hardness pressed against his thighs was at the very least encouraging. At least they’ll probably still get to fuck, but Peter knew he’s have to deal with that glimmer. Anger and danger. Peter stared back, hands curling closed in their cuffs. 

“No.” Was the short reply to Peter. Elias stroked a finger down Peter’s chest, the other hand feeling around his trousers for something. When he found the phone, he tossed it lightly beside them. When he found the ring, his lips curled up. “You carry this even when we’re divorced. ..I knew you did.” 

Peter didn’t say anything. He felt he was being teased. That it was something he was supposed to be embarrassed about. He wasn’t. Their divorces were always so temporary, after all.

Elias nodded. “They _are_ temporary, aren’t they?” His hand continued stroking lightly over Peter, fingers in the other hand curling around the ring. “You know, I don’t believe we’ve discussed terms of separation in a while.” 

“Meaning what?” Peter asked. 

“ _Meaning_.” Elias paused. “Seeing other people.”

“So we’re back to Salesa.” Peter said, trying not to sound irritated. “If you had let me speak, we could have talked about this before-” 

“But I didn’t _want_ to speak about it before, darling.” Elias interrupted, nails digging into Peter’s chest with a smile. “I wanted to talk about it when you couldn’t run away from me.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Elias looked down his nose at him, unamused. “Am I?” 

“Yes! We’re divorced, it shouldn’t mean anything.” 

Elias pursed his lips. “...I didn’t think I’d have to worry about you.”

“He’s...an ally.” Peter doesn’t feel comfortable referring to anyone as a friend, even if he thinks it occasionally.

“But you’re _mine._ ” Elias insisted. Peter rolled his eyes in response. Really. So possessive.

“Am I yours when you throw me away at the first conflict?” A pause, Peter’s teeth baring into a wide, fake, smile. “It’s hardly my fault if you _miss_ me.”

Elias was silent for a while, fingernails digging into Peter’s chest deeper. Sharper by the moment, hand shaking quietly. Only when Peter began to shift uncomfortably did he look back down. 

“...You don’t mind if I use your phone for a moment?” 

Peter paused, confused, and he shook his head. Elias didn’t reach for the phone, though. He pressed his lips back to Peter’s. “Even when we’re divorced, you’re mine, dear. You’ll never belong fully to yourself again.” 

He murmured against Peter’s skin. Peter wasn’t sure how much of it was a threat, and how much of it was just an unavoidable truth. Peter sighed, pulling at Elias’ lip with his teeth. He knew what he was supposed to say, despite the parts of him that rebelled against it. It was like repeating lines in a play, he told himself. And he tried very hard not to believe them. “No. I won’t.”

That seemed to please Elias, and he reached down between them again, pushing Peter’s trousers down his thighs. He worked on his own belt, and Peter quickly forgot all about the previous conversation. The possessiveness, the danger when he first came in.

He moved his hips to assist Elias as he pulled them fully off, and then the shorter man turned to himself, unbuttoning his shirt. Elias moved relatively fast after that, wasting little time in preparation for Peter before sinking down into him, lowering his body over him with a sigh and pressing his lips to his. Peter hummed, pressing up the little amount he could against Elias to encourage him to continue.

But then he just stopped. Peter opened his eyes to see Elias looking down at him, and his mouth curled upwards. He picked up the phone, propping himself up on one arm as he swiped on it.  
  
“No passcode? Really, Peter.” He scolded lightly. He clicked something, and Peter’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t typed in a number, meaning he chose someone from his contacts. 

Elias raised it to his ear and Peter realized what he was about to do. “Elias! No.”  
  
He jerked on the handcuffs and Elias laughed, shortly. “Oh, come now, Peter. Maybe he won’t pick up.”

“Who. Elias.” Elias held up a finger.

“Hello.” He paused, grinning at the reply he received. Peter missed it, glaring too furiously at Elias.

Elias rolled his hips slowly, and Peter gasped, half indignantly, half at the _gall_ . Elias paused another moment, face flushing as his breath evened out, before responding to the voice on the other end. “Yes, that _would_ be me. My, what _has_ he told you?

“Elia-” A hand pressed across Peter’s mouth. He could hear...His eyebrows dropped, anger bubbling through him.

It was Salesa’s cheerful, deep voice laughing from the phone. Muffled enough not to hear what he said after. Elias looked down at him, smiling smugly as he rolled his hips into Peter again. Peter breathed hotly into the hand across his mouth, feeling the heat burn across his cheeks. Elias clicked the volume up, not quite to speaker, but enough that Peter could hear the end of Salesa’s response. 

“-not really his thing!”

“Oh, yes. I know. He’s shy about certain things. He’d be very upset if he knew we were talking about him.” 

Peter glared at Elias, and received a smile that was mostly teeth in return. Peter could feel Elias’ dick twitch inside him. He was clearly enjoying this. Salesa paused on the other end. Perhaps he was catching on? Or suspicious? 

“...Then why are we?” Peter could kiss Salesa. Again. He no sooner thought that then he felt the bite of nails digging into his cheek, Elias’s eyebrows lowering to glare at him. 

“How considerate of you. You’re always quite…considerate of my husband.” The tone is accusing, but Salesa either doesn’t pick it up, or doesn’t care.

“Oh, remarried again? Congratulations!” 

“It’s not official yet,” Elias said, pulling out before snapping his hips back in possessively, harshly. Peter whined, jerking at the cuffs. Elias ignored him. “But, we *will* be.”

“Ah, yes, that’s the spirit! How could he say no with such a romantic determination?” 

Was the cheerful reply. There was a grunt and a crash from the other side, and Salesa swore quietly. “One moment-” His voice raised as he began speaking and yelling to someone.

Elias lifted the phone from his ear, very deliberately muting the microphone button and dropping the phone to the bed next to Peter’s head. He lifted his hand off of Peter’s mouth to prop himself properly above him. 

“Elias, he’s going to-” Peter’s voice broke as Elias started moving in earnest. Peter’s head pressed to the bed and his hips rose up to meet him, despite himself. “-he’s mm...going to figure it out.” 

“Mm.” Elias sighed, leaning down to close his teeth over a spot on Peter’s neck. The swearing and yelling continued dimly from the phone. “Not if you stay quiet.”

Elias slid a hand behind Peter’s thigh, pulling it up so he could fuck him at a different angle. Peter squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the air leave him and he felt himself getting into it, brain blanking out as he concentrated on Elias’ moving. His breath tightened as he clenched him in tighter, pressed up to- 

Elias was pulling back, and Peter groaned in frustration, one heel slamming into the bed angrily as Elias pulled his hair back into place, calmly unmuting the phone and placing it on speaker in time for: 

“Sorry, sorry. Help is so hard to get. Good help is worse.”

“Quite.” Elias said, shifting back to sit on his heels again, tugging Peter back in so he stayed impaled on him. He trailed his fingers up his stomach and pressed down below his navel, smiling at the look of frustration on Peter’s face before sliding his palm over his mouth again. His other hand was free now to wander down, and he pressed his thumb down over Peter’s cock just as he began to reply again, drowning out the quiet gasp. “...I do hope it was nothing too dangerous.” 

“For me? No, no.” A pause, Peter tried not to make a sound as Elias’ thin fingers circled him, pressing down at odd moments. Salesa continued, tone not changing. “But, I believe we were talking about a man who didn’t like to be talked about! Unless there’s something specific you wanted to discuss? Spying perhaps?”

“I think I was well within my right to-” 

“To spy on your ex-husband? Hm. I’m not so sure!” 

“...Fine.” Elias hissed, distracted enough that his hand had stopped moving on Peter. He glared coldly at the phone, then his voice smoothed back out. Polite. “On that topic, I was curious why you slept with him. He’s not your usual type. You like the small ones, don’t you? Usually quite thin, I wonder why you decided to-”

“He lost a bet.” Salesa defended, humor dropping from his tone. “And my ‘usual type’ is none of your business.” 

“A bet you made. And of course not. They’re not much of yours either, are they? They get so clingy and then they leave so quick. Maybe that’s why you like Peter, hm? Perhaps he is your type after all.”

“Hmm.” Salesa hummed, sounding as if he were pulling himself together. “Maybe! But.” The cheerful tone returned. “I enjoyed it quite a bit.”

A longer pause, and Salesa chuckled. “And pardon me for saying? But when you _do_ break it off again, I’ll gladly do it again.” 

Elias snorted, and Peter could suddenly understand the emotion there. Jealousy. Elias was _jealous_ . “I _hardly_ think-” 

“What do you say, Peter?” Salesa interrupted. Elias froze.

A moment passed. Then another. Salesa laughed again as the silence stretched. “Oh, come on now. I _know_ he’s there. I’m not an idiot.”

Elias huffed bitterly, lifting his hand off of Peter’s mouth. Peter kept his mouth shut, feeling that to be the wisest decision at the moment. Even if he did want to respond positively, best not to when another man’s dick was inside you. Elias clicked his tongue, looking satisfied when Peter didn't speak. “And why are you so sure?” 

“Why would you be calling me? You clearly can’t stand me, stand that I had so much _fun._ ...And this is his phone number. Maybe you two were, ah… _are_ you two fucking?” He asked, sounding amused.

Peter did not like the feeling of tension in the room. The jealousy, the amusement. It was bound to break something. Peter did not want to be that thing. He cleared his throat. “...He’s playing his games, Mikaele! I’d just hang-” 

Elias pressed his fingers down again, dragging up at a rather quick pace against Peter’s cock. Peter groaned, biting his lip and turning it halfway into an angry growl.

“ _Elias._ ”

Elias’ lips quirked up, and Salesa whistled. 

“So you are, so you are! Do you _want_ me to go? I assume your ex-husband there is out for some sort of blood.” A pause, and a sound of shifting as Salesa presumably sat down. “...I’m content to listen to him fuck you, if it will make him feel better.” 

“Make him feel-” Peter began. 

“Hush, Peter. And why would I let you have that, Mikaele Salesa?” 

“Hm… Well. It could be fun! If you change your mind, you can always hang up.” 

Peter knew Elias wouldn’t, as he looked at Elias’ eyes. He loved this sort of thing.

“Fine. Stay, then.”

“Perfect! I hope you don’t mind-”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine.” Elias interrupted, hissing the last word out as if it offended him. Salesa chuckled, and Peter heard the sound of a buckle releasing. “...but you’re not allowed to talk to Peter.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “He’s already staying, there’s no need to be so defensive-”

“Fine! I’ll talk to you, then.” Salesa interrupted, ignoring Peter completely. “How are you keeping him down then? Tied up?” 

Peter’s breath caught, feeling as if he’d been punched in the stomach. So delightfully _ignored._ Elias looked extremely pleased by this turn of events. He always did like being the center of attention. He eyed Peter, then adjusted himself again and began moving slowly. 

“Hm. Yes, you can do that. Handcuffed, actually.”

Peter’s eyes closed, and he groaned, feeling simultaneously used and ignored as the two continued to talk to each other. He imagined what it must sound like through the phone, and was mildly disappointed when he didn’t get to hear much from Salesa’s side in return. Only a slight breathlessness to his voice when he spoke.

“...You know, I have no idea what you look like. Peter really doesn’t like to share things!”  
  
Elias leaned down, brushing his lips to Peter’s cheek as he pulled his leg up again, snapping his hips forward faster now. Peter strained against the handcuffs, letting them bite into his wrists at an angle so he could roll up against Elias, gasping at the deep thrusts. Elias ignored him. “I know. We both like our...secrets.”

“You more than he, from what I’ve heard.”  
  
Elias laughed, pressing his face into Peter’s neck as he did, teeth catching on the skin there again. “...Perhaps.” He breathed, and Peter shuddered at the hot breath against his skin, tightening under him. Just a bit more, a little bit more attention

“Elias-” He whispered.

“Though, really.” Elias said louder, ignoring him and keeping up his own fast pace. Peter’s knee tightened against him, trying to pull him in deeper, at a better angle to help him finish. 

But that was the infuriating thing about Elias. He knew just where to be to keep him on the edge, to keep him just unsatisfied enough to finish. Peter felt him smile into his neck as he realized it. “He’s got plenty he’d rather people didn’t know.” 

“Don’t we all?” Salesa pointed out. Elias’ voice tightened as he continued.

“We do, but his secrets are so...personal. Did you know he misses the ocean? He was considering… selling his boat just... so he could dwell … in how miserable it would make him.”

“ _Elias_.” Peter hissed. Elias laughed, unable to continue talking. 

“I’m rather glad he didn’t!”

“Yet.” Peter interrupted, as Elias’ thrusts got more erratic, less patterned. 

No one seemed to want to pick up the conversation by this point. Elias was too far gone, and Salesa had gone rather quiet on the other end of the phone. 

Peter tried again to try to divert Elias’ attention to his cock, bucking up under him with a whine, but Elias bit down on Peter’s shoulder instead. Hard. Peter felt the skin break under his teeth. The sound of pain he made seemed to be enough to tip Elias over, jerking his hips against him as he came deep inside him. 

Peter repeated the sound as Elias’ teeth clenched tighter, then released, his tongue drawing over the wound. He rolled to the side, breathing steadying. “Peter, darling. Will you marry me?”

“You’re fucking _joking!_ ” Peter hissed, as Elias’ hand pressed down, rubbing Peter teasingly.

There was a breathless laugh through the phone, and Peter gritted his teeth. Elias picked up the ring he’d found earlier. “No, dear. I’m not.” 

Peter twitched up against Elias’ fingers, breathing heavy as he got so _close_ , and they drew back momentarily, then rubbed down again. The process repeated one more time, then another, and Peter groaned, frustrated as he slammed his head back against the bed. He considered it, but really only briefly. It was a manipulative way to ask, but he'd say yes anyway. He grumbled, then when Elias pressed down again, he gasped, caving.

“Fine! Yes!” 

“ _Wonderful_.” Elias replied, pressing their lips together as he slid the ring over Peter’s finger. He laced their fingers together and hoisted himself back over him, fingers moving quick and precisely this time. He swallowed Peter’s strained sounds as he finished, sucking his lip and continuing to press down against his cock. And then he continued. And continued harder. Peter whimpered, overstimulated, and he heard a sound from the phone, a tight, loud, sigh. 

“You’re welcome, Mikaele.” Elias said smugly. Elias pulled back, pushing one of Peter’s curls behind his ear fondly. He had redness around his lips, beard burn mixed with a little bit of blood. Peter thought both rather suited him, the irritation and the clear display of a violent nature.

Elias smiled.

“That, my dear, is what ‘cuffing season’ means.” A pause. “I already arranged the wedding.” 

Of course he did. Peter sighed and Elias pressed his cheek to his chest. Elias reached over with his hand, still wet from Peter’s slick, and lazily hit the button to hang up the phone. It smeared a little wet line across it.

  
  



End file.
